


Party's Over

by Niler



Series: All Change [4]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-27
Updated: 2015-06-10
Packaged: 2018-03-19 22:20:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3626358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niler/pseuds/Niler





	1. Chapter 1

 

Party’s Over

 

 

It’s his favourite time of the day, that time when it’s quiet, when the world’s asleep, when you can feel so lonely you want to obscure it behind weed and drink, but so connected, so at peace all you can do is sit in wonder.

Surrey’s different from Yorkshire; the weather’s different, the landscape’s different, the colours are, too.

They chose this, not through happenstance, but because they knew it needed to be a place just like this, located exactly where this is.

He’s used to wealth, now, used to the trappings of it, but the thing he loves most is that it can buy him this, this feeling, this feeling of utter serenity as he surveys the landscape which, for a little while, has lent itself to his ownership.

They need this, need to know that whilst their public personas are owned and managed by others, this, this privacy is wholly theirs, untouched by any of that.

He’d learned to do this – separate the public persona from the real Zayn - and has aided Liam in doing it too. Well, of course, Liam knew how, it was just that he seemed to have the impression that to do this was a form of dishonesty, that if you weren’t going to be who you really were, if you deliberately set out to give the wrong impression then you were, quite simply, in the wrong. Zayn hadn’t scoffed at him, hadn’t tried to prove him wrong, simply waited until he came to it himself.

He bought this place for Liam, for Liam’s sake, because slowly but surely Liam’s been going down, and while _he’s_ had the luxury of being allowed that, allowed to suffer in private, Liam has not. The fans _expect_ him to go underground during break, expect him to say the bare minimum in concerts, in interviews – they expect it. They expect something quite different from Liam, and Liam does not have the luxury of showing he’s not able to meet their expectation without inflicting extensive damage on himself, his well-being; they simply think he’s coping, that he’s unaffected, that he isn’t dying by increments.

If he thinks about it, thinks about all the things they’re going through, have been through he’d lose it, and now it’s over, the last thing he wants is to revisit it, make himself weak by giving in to the impotency of anger.

He’s worried about Liam, knows Liam misses him, knows that the situation is playing on his mind. This is evidenced by the fact that he’s constantly skyping, texting, trying to _hold_ Zayn via the comfort of his presence, but Zayn thinks it’s also to reassure _him_ that he’s coping, that he’s still on top of things.

Liam is headstrong, has a habit of looking at the worst of the hate, allowing it to seep into his pores, sour him. Zayn tells him not to, but Liam never says he won’t. Well yes, he does, but they both, by now, know the difference between saying something and meaning it, and saying something just to shut the other up. Liam feels that he needs to see, needs to know otherwise he wouldn’t be on top of things. Zayn knows he’s wrong, but has not yet managed to find a way to convince him.

He hates to see Liam cry and hates even more to upset him by crying and letting him see it. But when he told him, told him he couldn’t keep going, he cried, cried tears of blood, all the while aware that this wasn’t going to help, help either of them, because, since Liam is aware of Zayn’s reluctance to cry in front of him, especially when Liam can’t comfort him, knows, therefore that he’s running on empty, absolutely at rock bottom.

Liam cried, but not before telling him that he _had_ to do it, had to do what felt right, that they’d work it out, that this way was probably better than what they’d planned.

Yes, he knows it is, but none of that makes it any easier.

He lights a cigarette, cupping the flame against the cool early morning breeze, and stands there, wrapped up against the cold, and stares at the horizon, wondering what the day might bring.

 

**

 

He doesn’t relish the prospect of finding their concert footage on the internet, watching them without him. He tries not to do it because he’s always critical, only seeing where they could do better rather than simply appreciating the performances. When you’re not involved it’s so much easier to look at everything with a critical eye.

He knows he’s going to, though. For a start he needs to see Liam in action. The last two weeks have been angst filed, their declarations intense, not playful they way they generally tend to be whenever they have the Skype sessions. Far as he’s concerned, intensity belongs only to their face to face, in person interactions, has no place via a phone call or even on a Skype call, especially not a Skype call.

It would be inaccurate, a downright bloody lie to say he hasn’t felt like making love with him during the Skype calls, but he wouldn’t ever do it in his mum’s house and hasn’t felt like it in their home either, so it’s all building up and he has no idea what Liam’s going to look like once he’s through with him. Likely he’ll need to stay indoors for a while.

He smiles to himself, flicking though his favourite vids of him.

Liam’s such an idiot, but he makes him laugh so hard; Zayn understands him the way so few do and recognises just how clever and witty he really is, unashamedly proud that he’s the one who got Liam to see that, the one who allowed him to bloom.

Sighing, he sits back, folds his leg under him and indulges himself, replaying his favourites, manfully resisting the urge to call him up.

He doesn’t like being here without him and knows Liam’s the same.

He chuckles as he looks around him: they bought a mansion, and yet neither of them can stand being alone, would prefer to live in a one bed flat in Yorkshire.

It’s a matter of balance, of taking advantage of all of the perks and luxuries yet doing your best to fit it into the lifestyle that works for you.

They’re both simple souls when it comes to that; need very little to make them happy, and being here together makes them happy. Failing that, he has his friends and family to keep him company.

Liam would go mad if he ever thought of being here by himself and they’ve set up an efficient and seamless support system to ensure hat never happens.

But it’s not the same when he’s not around, even the air feels different.

He tries not to think about how long it’s going to take until the dust settles, until they can move on with their lives., and a part of him knows by now that in the grand scheme of things, it will be a split second, even in the world of celeb and media it will be a blink, but waiting for that, living the wait is both frustrating and a little scary. They expect the worse from the company, but deep down suspect that they don’t, even now, truly understand what they’re capable of.

Yet they knew they couldn’t go on, knew for the sake of their sanity, the sake of their future together they had to risk everything and just _hope_ they’d win.

Well they haven’t won yet, but he has reason to believe, now, that they will.

 

**

 

Liam isn’t even pretending not to be upset, respects him too much to put a brave face on it.

It’s as bad as they expected it to be, and of course it hits Liam worse than him; Liam who wants to fight anyone nod everyone who even looks at him wrong; fire off strongly worded tweets to all those who poke fun at or denigrate his culture or religion, has actually taken on the company, dug his heels in, put himself in the firing line in Zayn’s stead, to protect him, to ensure he doesn’t ever take a blow against which he can be shielded.

And he is in a position to do none of that, right now.

The fact that they can’t touch, can’t kiss and hold each other is agonising, and neither of them are pretending.

“I don’t even know if i an wait that long, boo.” He places a finger against the screen, uses it to virtually stroke his face.

Liam is silent for a time, simply staring at him. He’s been crying, Zayn can tell, crying for some time.

“I will give you such a welcome,” Zayn promises, not surprised when his voice breaks on the last word.

Liam nods, but still can’t find his voice.

Zayn swallows, not sure he can take this, this silence, this intensity. A part of him wants to say sorry, but he knows that’s not it, that Liam isn’t mad at him for this, simply mad at the world for putting them through this, mad at the circumstance that had him thousands of miles away instead of by his side, next to him in bed every night.

“Looking forward to the show?” He isn’t sure how Liam will take this; he’ll either dismiss it as insensitive, irrelevant or welcome the opportunity to not talk about them, about this.

Zayn allows his finger to travel the short distance from Liam’s cheek to his mouth, strokes it across his lips. Liam gives a slow blink and when Zayn looks into his eyes sees the distant spark returning.

“We all are – it’s another new crowd and I guess I want to see if you’re right, see if we have as many Black fans as we do White.”

Zayn nods, keeping his relief to himself. “Is it as hot there as it was in Thailand?”

Liam snorts. “Mate, it’s all a heat blur to me at the moment. I think I might be suffering from heat stroke.” He gives a suitably over the top and badly acted impression of someone suffering from heat stroke.

Zayn shakes his head. “Only you would even attempt that and then get it so badly wrong.”

“That wasn’t what it looks like? You sure, cos I swear that was me the other night.”

“Whatever, bro.” His finger’s back on Liam’s cheek, moving lazily to his ear. “You’re taking care of yourself aren’t you?” He tries to sound stern but knows the way he’s looking at him, the way he’s stroking his image gives the lie to that.

“Always. It’s important, I know that. I’m going to be in tip top condition for you, babe. I promise.”

Zayn knows he’s not talking about lovemaking, about sex, it’s more important than that. It’s as though they’ve been made aware of the seriousness of this, made aware of the fact that they are no longer tied into the nightmare that’s been their constant state for the last five years, and that now the cage door’s open and they have the freedom so long desired it’s important not to trip on a carelessly placed stone and somehow crack your head open, die.

They want no mistakes now they’re there, now they can practically taste freedom, and Liam’s promising him far more than care with his health, he’s promising to be there for the long haul, promising that he’ll do whatever it takes to ensure he keeps that promise.

And all Zayn can do in response is nod, silently promising the same.


	2. Chapter 2

 

It’s quite surreal, like living in a bubble, watching all the chaos around you; seeming, to everyone looking on, engaging with you, to be there, actively _participating_ – but _not_ there, not feeling, not present.

It’s something he’s learned to do and has reason to be thankful for right now, because everything’s moving so fast, skittering so far to the left of centre that should he ever disengage the bubble he feels sure the cacophony of chaos, pain and bizarre unreality would cause his head to implode.

Liam’s not in the bubble with him, Liam _is_ the bubble.

Even his mum, even his sisters can’t be that for him. They are all intent on protecting him, shielding him, shouldering his share of the burden, but he can’t really tell them what he feels, can’t really open up to them. His mum knows, because he believes that’s just how it is with mothers, but he knows that she will never expect him to share with her to that extent, in that way.

That privilege is Liam’s and Liam’s alone, for though Zayn would seek to protect him in the way he wishes to protect his mum and sisters, he accepts that their love cannot accommodate that.

For better or worse; to share the good and the bad, to bare all, to trust so fully and completely that there’s no room for either hiding or shielding.

Zayn would be furious if Liam tried to keep _his_ pain from him, so cannot even think of doing the same.

It’s still hard to unburden himself, aware that he’s searing him, cutting him with the depth of his unhappiness, but Liam knowing all, aware of all is the only acceptable way forward.

Any other option is – through their choosing – off the table.

 

**

“Still want to go to Mecca?”

Zayn quirks a brow, then grins, amazed at Liam’s uncanny knack of getting him out of his own head in the most unexpected ways. “What? Where did that come from?”

Liam smiles, shrugs. “Something I saw.” He’s shaking his head in the ‘I cannot believe I saw this, it is amazing’ way Zayn’s learned to recognise. “Zayn, I know you said the art was fantastic, but it is absolutely amazing, man. The colours! It’s just bloody...”

“Amazing?”

“Yeah, that’s it – amazing.” They’re both laughing now.

“I’m jealous.”

“I know, babe, but we’ll get there some time. I promise you.”

“Make sure you do extra good for me, okay?”

“Extra high note?”

“Extra _everything_ – except maybe the hip thrusting.”

“Oh? You think I might get chucked in jail? Kicked out the country?”

“ _I’d_ throw you in jail.”

“But what if I became some guy’s prison bitch, babe?”

“What, after a couple hours? Babe, you’re hot, but not _that_ hot!” He laughs at Liam’s exaggerated pout. “I’m joking of course! You _are_ that hot and I would cut _anyone_ who tried to make you their prison bitch!”

“Better, but not quite convincing enough; you’ve bruised my ego. Kiss it better?”

“Kiss your ego better?”

“Yup.”

“Okay, just as soon as I find a way to get my lips on something so huge yet so incredibly fragile.”

“Oh you talk a good talk, rafiq, but let’s see you talk it up when there’s only 3 inches between us instead of 10,000 miles.”

“Is that a challenge, babe? Cos you know better than to challenge me.”

Liam doesn’t answer, merely smiles.

Zayn rolls his eyes.

 

**

He didn’t used to hate her.

And now he simply doesn’t understand why.

The success has gone to her head. It happens, and he’s realised that he and the others are pretty unique in the way they keep each other grounded, bring each other back down to earth should he start being grandiose, a fan of his own manufactured image. He understands now that it’s not like that for others in the business – they don’t have that unity; aren’t necessarily friends, merely colleagues, people with a common cause.

And it shows.

Perrie thinks she’s the star of the show, that no matter what she’s the one everyone comes to see, her voice the voice everyone picks out and loves. In the early days, when they used to talk, when they used to cooperate and appreciate one another she’d talk about her ambitions, about how she saw herself, saw her future career. He’d detected under the ‘supportive’ words that she saw herself separate from, superior to the other girls, and though he hadn’t liked that, hadn’t given it too much weight. Now, however, he adds it to the catalogue of reasons she’s allowed them to fuck him over, her self-centred desire to be the focus, the linchpin of everything their easy ‘in’ to the crazy strategies they’re pursuing right now.

They know that no matter what they come up with, ask of them she’ll go along with it.

And he hates her for it.

She’s allowed them to do this – to him, to Liam and he hates her.

And his family hate her.

And the company don’t respect her.

And for all that she recognises how much hostility is ranged against her from his side of the equation, like the fool she is she goes along with everything still, swallowing her pride and doing everything they suggest with a smile on her face, because, by now, they know that she will never say no.

And he hates her.

 

**

“I never thought I’d ever say this, but I never want to go on holiday again! Never wanna see another ‘villa’ ever again!”

“Poor baby, that bad?”

“No, it’s nice having mum and the girls here – that’s good – but everything’s got a stain on it. I feel like just the very idea of having a holiday, being in a villa will feel fucked now.” He sighs. “Come home, babe, I need you.”

“I will. Only a couple more days now.” Liam tries to smile, but Zayn can see it’s a struggle.

“You have no fucking idea how much I need you.”

“I do. You know I do. I’m not gonna let you out of my sight for a week!”

“Take me somewhere, take all this shit off me.”

“I will. You know I will.”

They stare at each other, no longer bothering to tell themselves not to, not to give in to the pain, the yearning. True, it’s only a few days more until they can be together, but there is always that point where you simply can’t keep going, where the finish line is in sight yet you simply cannot keep going.

Zayn wonders if they haven’t both reached that point.

“I fucked up,” he says quietly.

“No,” Liam says firmly. “You did what you had to do, and babe, I got you, whatever it is, whatever you need I got you, so don’t, okay? We can work it out, you know that. Doesn’t matter what, we’ll make it right.”

And Zayn can’t reply because these are the words he needed to hear and once again his heart, his life comes through for him as he always does, because Liam _is_ his heart, his life... his bubble.

 

**

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

It’s hard now to access the old Zayn, the Zayn who thought he’d end up married with kids – good Muslim, good family man, taking care of business in very traditional ways. That was never who he really was, but for a while he’d thought that was who he was going to be. He believes in destiny. No big deal; doesn’t really care that other people think his superstitious nature is slightly absurd. One thing he’d learned very early on is that no-one but you inhabits your head, no-one but you feels your hurt – or your joy – so what other people think about your feelings, your beliefs are frankly irrelevant.

It’s made him strong, though it’s only lately that he’s thought of it in those terms.

Didn’t realise he was strong, didn’t realise he had resources other people lacked, that his attitude to life was _advantageous_. And though his instinct is to shrug it off, downplay it, he’s coming to the realisation that sometimes the best thing you can do is to acknowledge, celebrate your virtues rather than downplay them in a faux show of humility.

There’s nothing vain about acknowledging his qualities. Allah conferred on him these qualities and it’s no honour to seek to disregard them.

He used to mind when people called him vain, when they assumed that he _was_ vain because people regarded his looks as noteworthy. Now he’s happy to accept the plaudits - his genes are responsible for his looks, so why not acknowledge that legacy?

So much has changed for him over the past 5 years. Of course this could all have been achieved even without the fame and the wealth, he just knows that the wealth, the fame were an added test, an added burden designed to see if he’d remain humble or fall at that particular hurdle.

Sighing, he stares out the window, his excited anticipation mixed in with the residual annoyance of having Perrie in his space for way too long. The actual time spent in her company is not usually that lengthy, but the annoyance factor is there regardless.

He simply hates her, and he’s found that there comes a point when you hate someone _that_ much where your capacity to tolerate even a minute of their company is simply nonexistent.

And she tries so damn hard, is such a fake, switching up for the cameras like a pro, that his disdain is _this_ close to becoming tangible.

He’d known it was going to be bad, but hoped that having his mum and sisters there to bolster him against her, against the horror of having to actually spend time in her company, actually converse with her would help a little.

It helped - a little.

But the fact is his mum and sisters hate her so much now, too, that it pains him to put them through it, so he knows that they’re not going to be able to pull that one off again.

Hopefully _they_ know what they’re doing, because he’s simply not doing all that shit again.

The thought of her makes him shudder; the thought of her in his personal space makes him want to turn around - and push her off a cliff.

He knows she feels the same about him and to see her going all out to sell the thing makes him despise her more than he’d believed possible.

At first (whenever he was feeling benign) he told himself that in her position he’d do the same; that for his boys he, too, would be all over a person he despised and happily sell it for all he was worth.

But he knows it’s not true.

Life and death situation, no hesitation, but he knows himself well enough to be aware that he wouldn’t whore himself out that way; that if the whoring was all to _his_ advantage he wouldn’t do it – so wholeheartedly.

And the thing is he knows Perrie and the other girls don’t have each other’s back the way he and the other guys do; knows that there’s a weird, but definite separation between her and them. Doesn’t know if it’s deliberate, but suspects that it’s down to Perrie herself; she could ensure there was no separation – if that was what was important to her.

He doesn’t understand her, never has. It’s as though they have opposing values, and well, for that reason he can’t even call her friend. The truth is she’d never get past the front door, wouldn’t even get a second look – if he had his way.

And he hates the way even now she’s intruding, spoiling his anticipation of Liam’s homecoming.

If he never sees her again, hears or sees her name he’d be fucking ecstatic.

 

 

**

 

 

It’s always the way – when you’re desperate, when you need to get somewhere, when you’re absolutely bursting and need to get there _yesterday_ , Fate invariably elects to fuck with you.

Liam hasn’t phoned at all, and though Zayn’s annoyed about that, he knows it’s deliberate, that he’s being fucked with in that very specific Liam way; showing he knows your buttons and won’t hesitate to press them, all so he can say sorry and make up for it later.

Zayn _knows_ this and yet always falls for it – every single time. It’s as though he quite simply has something in his head specifically tied to this thing of Liam’s that makes it impossible to react differently.

He’s been holed up in Bristol for a couple of days, unable to go home until Liam arrives. Attention is on him right now and there’s a feeling that their home is being watched, so it’s been decided to have him arrive after Liam lands at Heathrow, just to throw people off the scent.

He’s able to drive from Bristol to Surrey without anyone seeing him, and in any case, as far as he’s aware he’s still partying in Europe.

Why anyone would think he’d choose France as a holiday destination for himself and his family he has no idea, but no way he was going to be that far away from home when Liam arrived.   The thought of a long haul journey with her in tow made even Rhyl seem like the ideal holiday destination! (so long as they could fly to Wales, of course – a car journey would have been worse than a flight halfway across the world. At least he could avoid her entirely on the plane).

His hope is that this fuckery will end really soon.

He is so tired of hiding - in every single way, on every possible level - praying for the day he can take Liam to a concert or a fancy restaurant and no-one bat an eyelid, where they can go places where no-one will ask for a selfie or an autograph, where their fame will be meaningless.

Sighing, he watches the countryside change as he nears their home, deliberately not focusing on what he’ll do when he sees him again. Too often the moments he spends savouring the delicious anticipation of their intimate moments to come get so big and vivid and immediate he leaps on him when they meet up, turn him into an animal; a greedy, passionately relentless tiger who’ll not hesitate to knock his prey to the ground and drag him into his lair.

He’s trying his best to get better, to consciously _not_ drift into and then dwell inside the feeling being with Liam gives him, but it’s too much right now; it’s been too long and he knows that when he sees him it’s going to be hard – really hard.

But he really doesn’t care if he drowns for a few hours.

For Zayn, it’s the only time ever where drowning is okay.

 

**

 

The bed is still too big without him, and he doesn’t even know why he’s here. Or well, maybe he does; maybe this is the closest he can come to the feeling, the memory, and maybe he needs that right now. Not as a substitute, no, but perhaps as a way of acclimating himself, a way to maybe dilute the craziness he knows will come with his return.

He shouldn’t wait here for him, knows he should go meet him – in public, to take the edge off the craziness, but he’s too weak, feels much too weak to put himself through that. Liam’s become really good at acting, at dissembling in public, but Zayn doesn’t want that, has no wish to see any of that today.

What he wants is the _real_ Liam, the Liam who’s as fucking crazy as he is.

 

**

He’s never had so much correspondence from guys and gals in suits as he has the last few weeks. In fact he fully believes he’s developed an allergy to pin stripes, now, maybe even to colourful ties!

He’s tired of it, has been for a whole five years, and can only pray for the day when he’s _finally_ rid of it – all of it, every nasty, deceptive, manipulative aspect of it.

Why life does it that way he has no idea. Why there has to be the rough with the smooth, the negative to counter the positive he has no idea, and is only slowly – reluctantly – coming to terms with it.

Some aspects he will, of course, be forever grateful for – Liam.

The rest he could do without.

Even the money isn’t what he wanted. It’s made his life...different...but really, if he’d got himself a decent job, maybe cut some tracks on the side, made a bit out of that, he’d still have been able to help his parents out. The money is far more than he needs and with it comes all the other issues, so he doesn’t really see it as a positive.

He does, however, see it as payment for his soul.

The worst part of this is the fact that he won’t be with him. That’s never been the case before, a major part of his continued well-being absolutely tied to the fact that he spends practically every day with him, near him, within reach of him.

The last month has been hell.

He knew it would be hard of course, but knowing something in theory turns out to be very different in practice.

Well he’s had all the stunting and the acting, even the music, to distract him, to take his mind off the missing half of his heart, but how, how do you distract yourself from that? If anyone can tell him that he’d gladly give them half his fortune.

That’s how much he’d give to make it hurt less .

They’ve spoken every single day and that sort of helps while at the same time not helping at all. In his darker moments he’s wondered if it wouldn’t be better not to see him, not talk to him when there’s no way of _being_ with him.

It’s agonising seeing him, watching his mouth, seeing the look in his eyes – and being on the other side of the world able to touch him only with words.

The phone lights up and he sees he’s got a text. The acceleration of his heartbeat lets him know without doubt that it’s Liam, the text is from Liam, Liam who hasn’t bothered to phone him for hours, hasn’t told him he’s arrived, deliberately pushing his buttons, setting him up to be extras crazy when they meet – that Liam.

He reaches for the phone, hand shaking, and reads the text.

 

**

 

Liam’s a good kisser, knows exactly what turns him on, what drives him wild. He’s doing all of that, using every trick he knows, and it’s working of course, working far too well.

He knows ful well how Zayn gets and it’s clearly what he wants – to push him into the utter craziness that will leave him bitten, bruised, maybe a little battered.

Well, if that’s what he wants, Zayn will give it to him, and it’s okay that Liam will have to lay low for a while, not show himself in public.

Zayn had always, in my case, intended to keep him very, very close.

 

**

“You know I can’t let your mum see me like this, don’t you?” Liam seems to be indicating the bites on his torso, lower belly, neck.

Zayn looks him over, chooses a mark, kisses it. “Cover up, babe. My mum don’t need to see any more of you than she needs to see.”

“What, you saying I should wear a _cravat_ or something?”

Zayn moves to his neck. “A shirt will do.”

“Oh, one of them high collar thingies? Cos I don’t think an ordinary shirt’s gonna hide this lot.”

Zayn moves to his mouth. “Shut up.” And just in case Liam’s decides not to, makes him.

 

**

His mother does her best to pretend not to notice the state of them when she and the girls come over for lunch the next day, but he notices her covert glances at Liam, at him, more specifically at the marks they’ve left on each other and is fairly certain she’s going to say something.

It wouldn’t be the first time she’s teased him about his love life, but he’d much rather not give her reason to.

She’s all over Liam, as are the girls.

His mother seems to feel the situation even more than they do; hugging him, staying close to him, making an absolute fuss of him all day long.

Only Doniya seems to truly understand the ramifications of the situation, but she’s not likely to make a fuss about it, far too cool for that. Waliyha and Safaa are simply pleased to see him, eager to rip into the bulging bags he’s brought back with him.

Later when the girls are in the garden, wearing the sarongs Liam bought them, they talk.

Doniya’s the first to bring up Perrie and that whole situation. She’s never liked her, overcompensating for this by taking responsibility for promoting the relationship, and he’s not surprised at the disdain in her voice when she recounts the recent events for Liam’s benefit.

“You should have seen her Liam, sucking up to mum, sucking up to Wali and Safaa.”

“I can imagine, yeah.” Liam, next to him, takes his hand, squeezes. Zayn knows how he feels about being away, about not being there when he returned from being with her. It’s something they’d promised each other; to always be there at the end of the day so that whatever bullshit they’d waded through could be washed away in each other’s presence.

It hasn’t been so bad for him this time because he had mum and the girls with him, but he can tell it’s been hard for Liam, harder, it seems, than he’s been letting on. They’ll have to talk and he signals this with a nudge of his shoulder to Liam’s, nodding when Liam briefly turns to look at him.

They understand each other; so much able to be conveyed in a simple touch, a brief glance when you know each other as well they know each other.

He loves him.

He never tires of silently affirming it; the fact of it, the experience of it, the wonder of loving Liam never failing to make his heart stutter, swell, soar.

He reads love poetry because he feels kinship with those who have loved as he has, who’ve been so affected by the act of loving someone that they’re driven to attempt to convey that feeling with _words_.

It feels, at times, that these poets are the only ones who can understand how it feels. It seems to him that the films, the music vids, much of the songs he’s heard cannot express the feeling, the state of being so, so in love; the stunned mullet amazement of meeting that one person who turns out to quite simply be the one, the one and _only_.

Liam must be able to feel the colour of his thoughts for he looks at him, distracted, failing to respond immediately to Doniya’s quip.

His mum rescues the situation, jumping in with a quip of her own, and he wonders yet again what he did to get so lucky with the people in his life, the people he loves.

He strokes his thumb across the back of Liam’s hand, trying his best to convey his desire, his love.

They’ve spent all night and most of the morning in bed, wrapped up in each other, savouring every inch of each other, and yet his thirst remains unquenched; his hunger as immediate and present as it’s always been.

Feels like he’s been trying to find ways to tame his hunger for Liam for _years_ and five years later he wonders when it’ll let up.

Liam slides a hand on to his thigh. Not surreptitiously - openly, proudly, the way he always is when it comes to that.

Liam’s more open than he is when it comes to showing that kind of affection in front of family. Zayn tells him it’s because his sisters – and mum – tease the fuck out of him and he doesn’t want to give them the excuse, and while that is true, there’s a little more to it. A part of him wants to keep the rawness of his desire, the intensity of his love for Liam intensely private. It’s okay that they know he loves him, loves him a lot, but he can’t help but feel that should he allow loose the reins of the actual feelings, if that’s shown in all its raw intensity he’d be giving away a part of himself, a part of _them_.

And that is _not_ for public consumption.

No-one needs to know the precise configuration of his love, the way it manifests behind closed doors. That is for him and Liam alone to know.

It’s hard, though, to keep a lid on it when Liam’s this close, when every molecule is straining to meld with, reacquaint itself with the taste of his sighs, the pattern of his moans.

“And I swear if I’m ever forced to sit still for one more “I really love that colour on you, pet, you look really hot” bit of fakery... Do you know she had the nerve to bloody _tell_ the shop assistant who we were?”

“And what did the assistant say? So who the hell are you then and what are you doin with them?” Liam isn’t the biggest bitch Zayn’s ever seen – he’s a far bigger bitch – but he has his moments, more often than not when it involves Perrie. He presses his hand in gentle admonishment, but it’s so half-hearted Liam doesn’t even so much as turn his head.

This tickles Doniya and she regales them with the story. He’d only heard the bare bones before and isn’t at all surprised that they’d go all out for Liam’s benefit.

He knows it’s not meant that way, but he sometimes has a sense that they have a strange sort of outrage on Liam’s behalf, almost treating him as the wronged wife or something.

It took him a while to work out what was going on, why they were so weird when it came to Liam and Perrie, the way they were always so keen to trash Perrie to and for him. It had a distinctly different flavour to the way they talked about it with him, and this puzzled him for a while, until it eventually made sense.

But it does, at times, make him feel like they blame him for some of it, regarding Liam as the innocent party. Well, he understands it – sort of – and since there’s never been an open discussion about it from _that_ angle he can’t set them straight Not that there’s anything to set straight; they all know why it’s happening, and it’s not like he doesn’t get sore – with good reason – when Liam’s off with Sophia (though he doesn’t recall Nicola or Ruth treating _him_ as the wronged wife)

All he knows is that things have changed and will continue to change.

He just intends to make the change bloody well _count_.

This is what he’s been wanting for the longest time – the opportunity to get out of the headlights, try to work on his relationship outside of the unnatural glare of fame, and perhaps it’ll be jagged, even painful for a while (his heart still feels the ache of that month long separation), but the point is that this is what he wished for and now he’s been presented with the manifestation of this wish it’s down to him to do something useful with it.

He finds himself staring at Liam’s profile and knows that it’s going to be a while before he can formulate _any_ kind of plan.

He’s weak with love, still suffering the after effects of missing him, missing him so bad he genuinely still has no idea how he survived, and all he can think of is getting his family out of the way so he can tell Liam one more time how it feels to be without him.

He simply _cannot_ live this way, but neither of them have any commitments for _weeks_ yet...

Maybe by then he’ll have recovered.


	4. Chapter 4

 

“What?” He’s smiling because Liam’s amused and Liam’s amusement always has that effect on him.

“No, I was just thinking that it’s funny because when I was a kid I kinda did imagine meeting the love of my life in MacDonald’s.” He turns to him, still smiling and asks for a kiss which Zayn gladly bestows on his still smiling mouth.

“So, I’m the love of your life?”

“That you are.”

“How do you know?”

“Same way I know water’s wet, fire’s hot and apples fall up not down.”

Zayn laughs. “I want to see an apple fall up.”

Liam deepens the kiss. “Me too.” He takes him by the hand, plays with his fingers, watching the intertwining of their hands as if it were the most diverting thing ever.

Well, perhaps it is, perhaps he wishes to be diverted, but _he_ was the one who brought it up, and Zayn wants to know more. Or maybe _hear_ more...

“I bet when you thought of it it was a girl you was thinking of.” He knows this to be the case and it honestly shouldn’t sting, but it’s already stinging a little. His hope is that once he feels that sting he can be done with it for good.

Liam looks thoughtful. “Yeah, but it really wasn’t a specific girl-“

“Just a long-legged, big breasted brunette.”

Liam laughs in genuine amusement. “You know me far too well.”

“I hope that’s a compliment.”

“A concern.”

“Joker.”

“No, it was like a fantasy, Zayn, a way of feeling like at some point in the future I’d get back at everybody by achieving what _they_ all wanted – fit girl, the girl everyone leched after. It was funny, actually, cos though, yeah, this fantasy girl was really fit and everything and she had all this glamorous stylish stuff going on, it was all about being best mates with her, about her being my best friend in the world, about her not being about her looks, what other people said and did. It was about her knowing me inside and out, being okay with my dumbness, with all the stupid things I said and did - basically loving me just for me.” He looks into Zayn’s eyes. “And that has never been what that type of girl ever does. Even then I was looking for you; I just couldn’t _imagine_ you, then.” He kisses Zayn’s knuckles. “Even so it took me a while to put the two things together.” He chuckles. “Actually I only just did. What? You know how slow I am at times.”

Zayn laughs, presents his mouth for yet another kiss.

He’s pleased.

He’d sort of known that whatever girl had taken centre stage in Liam’s imaginings had to have been a fantasy lover, but it’s nice to have this confirmed by Liam himself, and in Liam’s own special way, which, more often than not, somehow always manages to elevate _him_ in the process.

Liam’s so clever at times it worries him, worries him that Liam could easily manipulate him, too, if he ever felt like it.

“So when you saw me sat there, no lightning bolts? No angels carolling?”

“Damn, if any of that had happened, I think I’d have avoided you like the plague, mate. Bolts of lightning and Angels singing? Wow I’d have turned and run for it.”

“Maybe you should have.”

“Know what?”

“What?”

“I think that even if I’d turned and run that day, we’d still have met.”

Zayn acknowledges this with a nod. “Yeah, me too.” He hasn’t shared his thoughts on their first meeting, their journey to each other. Maybe it’s time he did.

“Macdonald’s eh?” Something’s tickling him and Zayn isn’t quite sure what.

“Romantic.”

“You know what, it kinda is. I think the best romances usually start like that – meeting in an ordinary way, doing something you do every day.”

“Mebbe.”

“Definitely.”

“Not every day you enter a singing contest, televised and broadcast to the whole fucking world, though.”

“That is very true, so it’s a good thing we met in MacDonald’s then, isn’t it?”

“But if we hadn’t, if our first meeting _had_ been during XFactor...”

“And that’s why I said what I did – cos we did meet in an ordinary way, proving what I said is true.”

Zayn examines his grinning face for a moment. “There’s a flaw in that argument, somewhere, and,” he smacks him lightly on the arm. “Don’t act like you won something.”

“Didn’t I?”

“What?”

“Win something.”

“Eh?”

“I won something.” He places a wet kiss on Zayn’s nose. “ _You_.”

“Oh hold on,” Zayn protests, swiping a finger across his nose. “Have we changed the subject?”

“Not as far as I know. We _were_ talking about the love of my life, weren’t we?”

Zayn silently shakes is head. “Smooth.”

“Ta.”

“Can I offer you a bit of rough to go with that?”

“Depends.”

“On?” He’s already climbing on top of him, already placing tiny bites along his shoulder blade.

“Hmm, don’t know. What was the question again?”

Satisfied, Zayn continues his journey.

 

**

 

Liam never notices the way people look at him.

During those meets and greets (and thank god he never has to go to any more of those) when those scantily clad girls were all over him he’d dismiss it as joyous excitement.

Yeah right.

But Liam doesn’t really _get_ girls, never has.

He hasn’t had that much more direct experience with girls, but he understands people better. Or maybe it’s just his innate cynicism, which Liam most definitely doesn’t share.

_He_ can look at a girl and sense what she’s thinking, wishing, hoping for. The ones who come for him he can handle. The ones who think they can sneak a quick grope under the guise of meeting and greeting Liam can go suck it as far as he’s concerned.

If they had any decency they’d know to keep their hands off.

The remembered nightmare of those occasions still gives him psychic pain, even now, even now he no longer has to witness it.

Of course it’s worse in its way not being there to witness it. He’s told Liam to limit the touches, the hugs, the gropes, the fucking _familiarity_. Just because they pay for the opportunity for a hug and a photo doesn’t give them the right to get so damn familiar.

Maybe he’ll come on tour just to be present during these Meet and Greets, maybe bring along one of those paintball guns, pop a big red splodge of paint on the back of anyone who got too handsy as warning for anyone else who might be tempted.

He’d do it, too.

No use relying on Louis to keep them off Liam. Liam would take chunks out of him if he tried, probably go full on and _kiss_ them, just to spite him. Yeah, the Louis factor could go either way, so that’s a no-go then.

Harry would be too busy to pay Liam any mind.

Yeah, Niall could do it. He’d do it in a clever, subtle way with the added bonus of Liam being okay with his interference.

Only one flaw in this plan.

He would rather not encourage Niall to have an excuse to get even more matey with Liam.

With his permission?

Fuck off!

No, coming on tour, paintball gun in tow is looking favourite at the moment.

 

**

His mum and sisters have bought enough food to last them a month! Good. The shopping thing is a logistical nightmare at the moment, so he’s glad they can avoid that for a bit.

Liam’s all for him going shopping with him, but then Liam gets these moments where he’ll get all reckless characterised by a sod it, I’m going for it, don’t get in my way laser focused bolshiness and Zayn knows to talk him down when that’s required.

They know they have to be extra careful while everything’s being lef to percolate, and it’s not like they haven’t been doing this for long enough for it to become second nature – living their lives with half an eye to the unseen camera, regulating their public interactions and appearances. It’s just second nature by now, and since it’s been working for them so far no reason to suppose they’d need to pull the pin on anything for now.

Time for that later, when thing are right.

While Liam’s still in the band, things aren’t right, so they have to stay focused.

He knows he’s being a hypocrite; knows that once Liam leaves again he’ll be itching to pull the pin – every fucking day – but has to be the steady one right now.

They’re happy where they are, got acres of space and enough privacy to feel like they can live their lives. No need to seek to extend the boundaries of their territory for now. In time it will change, so they just have to be patient, wait for that day.

 

**

“Bollywood star, Zain – with an i – Malik said: “I have no idea how I got this role. I have never considered myself an actor, but anyway thank you for the opportunity to strut my stuff on the world stage. It’s no every day a little boy from Bradford get s he chance to put Yorkshire on the map. I wanna thank my husband and best friend, the brilliant and talented world-famous producer and singer/songwriter Mr. Liam Big Payno Payne for being so, so good in bed-“

Zayn wrestles the phantom mic from a laughing Liam. “Ladies and gentlemen, I just want to thank my husband Zain – with an i – Malik for always making me look good just by standing next to him in photos and that. And for teaching me Urdu and Hindi so I can understand what the fuck’s going on in his films. Also for showing me how to give a world class blowie-“He holds the mic away from Liam, daring him to try to snatch it.

“You did _not_ have to teach me, you big-headed bastard. I was _already_ good.”

“I was trying not to hurt your feelings.” He gives a sympathetic, apologetic shrug.

“You do not wanna go there, Malik. I have that first session recorded in case you’ve forgotten. And it wasn’t me who was speaking in tongues. As I remember it I hadn’t even properly got started and you were begging and pleading and calling out all the names of the saints and what not.”

“I was flattering you so you’d do it more.”

“Meaning you couldn’t get enough!”

“Meaning I wanted you to practice enough so you’d get good.”

He isn’t quick enough to avoid Liam’s rugby tackle and lets out an unmanly squeal as he’s taken down.

There’s a good chance he’s going to be made to eat his words, but then he’s kinda counting on that.

 


End file.
